


Aw Shit Jack, U Possessed

by Zinfandel



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Daddy Issues, Dark Jack, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, M/M, Pitch Black is Bad at Relationships, Stockholm Syndrome, eventual blackice, possessed jack, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 19:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1277554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinfandel/pseuds/Zinfandel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack gets shot with the black arrow and turns into dark!jack, but Plottwist! Pitch turns out to genuinely just want a family and makes Jack his son. And its totally borked. because its Pitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aw Shit Jack, U Possessed

Sleeping wasn’t an option.

His nightmare was waking. There was no escape. He was trapped.

Worst part? His horrific fate was becoming, as the days drug on, actually kind of nice.

No!

No, no no no nononono. If he started down this train of thought he’d be doomed.

Jack had to hold onto his sanity, had to keep his role, his identity, fresh and alive. He was himself not this…this puppet.

But was he? He didn’t feel any less there in the head…just…completely vacant from his body.

That wasn’t his fault though! No one could knock him for trying! He had tried for weeks and weeks and weeks to get free! Everything he could think of, every mental action he could take! His body simply wasn’t under his command anymore.

Pitch. This was all his fault! Well…not entirely. If Jack hadn’t been reckless and shielded Sandy from yet another black arrow this would never had – NO. He couldn’t blame himself! If he started, he’d never have a chance.

Oh but…this ice cream was great.

His eyes looked up of their own accord and his lips grinned, sharp teeth gleaming in the dim cold light. His father sat across the table a warm smile on his own dark lips as his eyes were downcast to his own rainbow sprinkled sundae.

Jack’s hand, fingers dark with staining shadows scooped up another bite with a dainty spoon and brought it to his tongue and his mind melted. Sweet and heavenly ice cream slid down his throat too cold to melt. He could eat this forever. Food was great, why had he never bothered to eat ever in his life before?

His father vowed to remedy that, said that they’d try and taste every delight known to mankind if that’s what he wished. 

And he did. Or he said he did, Jack wasn’t sure. He wasn’t quite present when his body spoke of it’s own will. His Father hugged him regardless and pat his hair and said “Good boy,” and a purr rumbled in Jack’s chest pleased as His Father lead him -

Father?

Shit.

No. Pitch. PITCH. PITCH BLACK. Not his dad. His dad was centuries dead. Never his dad! This twisted crazed maniacal bastard! This asshole that possessed his body with shadows and fear and corrupted his flesh tainting his frost turning him dark taking away his autonomy, his life!

Everything he ever worked for, all of the struggles for three hundred goddamn years! Ruined. Ruined by one arrow! Ruined by one man! He couldn’t stop the infection, the Guardians weren’t fast enough, he not strong enough.

All Jack could do was watch in horror as the Guardians stood there with mirror expressions as his power melted away. His hair tainted black before their very eyes, shadows crawling up his limbs, his eyes draining from crystal to amber. His staff seeped and dripped with tar-like shadows that wisped away as his arm swung it, testing out the newly corrupted conduit. 

And that was that. Fearlings swarmed his body and it moved on it’s own, turning it’s back on the Guardians as he screamed himself hoarse with a voice he no longer had. 

Tears cooled his cheeks and Jack looked down at his sundae, watching them drip and mix with the whipped cream , a confused expression knitting his brow. A clatter of metal and he noticed his spoon fell from his fingers. Why did that happen? When did he let go?

A chair scraped and quickly warm hands were on his chin lifting his face. He looked up into the matching eyes of Pitch, his lip quivering minutely.

“Shhh, Jack. Whats the matter? The ice cream no good?” Pitch asked, sincerely concerned as he swiped his thumbs across Jack’s cheeks drying the tears.

“No. It is delicious, Father. What do you mean what's the matter?” Jack’s voice held none of his character, none of his spark. It was as timid as the day he rose from the ice, unsure and hesitant.

“You are crying.”

“I am? Why?” 

Pitch paused and looked Jack right in his eyes before bringing both hands to cup Jack’s cheeks gently pressing in. “Oh.”

No. No, not again! Please not again! Jack screeched in his mind, but he couldn’t stop it. His fear swelled, anticipating what Pitch was doing and Pitch felt it, Jack could tell, in the way that he gripped his face just a little tighter. 

“Shhh, my son. I do not like to see you cry, I am only helping, shhh.” Pitch cooed and Jack’s smile returned at the words, his fingers coming up and pressing over Pitch’s still on his face. 

“I know. Thank you.” 

Pitch’s hands fell away, twisting slightly to take both of Jack’s within them for a warming squeeze. “Good boy. All better now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Finish our ice cream then go flying? Does that sound fun?” 

And Jack’s head nodded as he turned to pick his spoon up again. The ice cream was really delicious. 

~~~

He had his own bedroom. He never had a bedroom before. 

Ok the ‘paint-it-black’ theme was wearing on him a little, but who was he to complain? There was a room all his own! with a bed so soft he never wanted to get up, a dresser filled with clothes, a nightstand on which sat gifts Pitch had given him since he started staying here. There was even a doorway heavily draped with thick curtains that lead outside! Someday, Pitch said, when he trusted Jack not to hurt himself, the doors would stay unlocked so he could fly and leave and return at his own whims. 

Amazing. 

Well. Not really. Because seriously, this having no control over his own actions was starting to become boring. 

Jack couldn’t decide if this was all clever torture or genuinely Pitch. The guy hadn’t done anything. Literally. Nothing, since he brought Jack home. The first month or so was pretty awful sure, but that wasn’t because Pitch was. That was because Jack kept fighting, he kept trying to take back over his body. It never worked, but he got close sometimes. 

The sheer amount of time he spent with Pitch wore on his efforts. Jack had lost count of all the times he fell away from the surface of his consciousness into the blackness that invaded his body. He always dug himself back up, but he found if he was complacent within his own mind the fearlings generally let him be. 

He was allowed to exist and watch himself as his body went about it’s business. It was a strange sort of existence.  
Fearling Jack, as Jack began to refer to his body as, wasn’t simply just possessed. It was this weird corruption. The fearlings weren’t conscious and Jack wasn’t conscious, and neither was there a third combined entity. Jack’s ice was tainted dark with shadows, and it seemed like his personality had done the same, while his mind had taken a back seat. 

He still liked the things he used to, his taste buds delighted in Jack’s own preferences and he spat out food that didn’t suit him. His body still loved to fly and cause mischief, and even when Pitch and he went fear spreading, Jack’s body relegated itself to harmless fun frights, like ghost stories, horror movies, and thrill seeking humans who jumped from planes or rode roller coasters. 

It was all kind of eerie how similar Fearling Jack was to himself. 

And that sort of made it worse.

Because, Jack found he kind of liked what was happening. Especially when he took a moment to stop resisting and fighting and trying to escape his own body to realize what they were doing. 

Pitch was downright spoiling him. Doting on him, spending as much time with Jack as was physically possible. Fearling Jack adored it. He had a father again, a companion, someone to be there. Something Real Jack had dreamed of for centuries. It was hard to remember who the bad guy was in the face of it. 

Jack found himself getting comfortable in his prison, sometimes perfectly content to observe as the father son pair wrangled wayward nightmares, and subjugated new ones. 

~~~

They were eating kabobs sitting atop the Pyramids in Egypt. It was a ridiculously crisp night and snow laid over the landscape. 

Pitch was grinning like a cat and Jack was laughing beside him, elbowing him in the side.

“Amazing right?” Fearling Jack chirped, and for the first time Real Jack was laughing along with him. Snow! In Egypt! He’d never attempt such a thing if he were still a Guardian. And ok, so he didn’t get a very good coverage but seriously, there was like three inches over everything, Kids would have so much fun in the morning! 

“Not very scary though.” Pitch said around a mouthful. 

“Yeesh. Not everything has to be doom and gloom all the time, dad.” Jack retorted. 

Pitch laughed and threw his left over stick down the side of the pyramid. Jack stuffed his mouth with the last giant bite of his treat to copy Pitch and tossed his stick in the same direction. 

“Don’t Be a litterbug, Jack.” Pitch said grinning and elbowed him back.

“Look who's talking!” Jack crowed around his mouthful, but before he could shove Pitch back, the guy forcefully pushed Jack off of his perch on the pyramid.

Jack squawked as he tumbled head over heels down the steep slope. He rolled and couldn’t right himself for a good 5 seconds. Snow kicked up as he fell and his feet weren’t working and shit! 

Pitch was laughing as he watched Jack fall.

Somehow, Jack got a foot under himself and righted his grip (thank the moon he still had it) on his staff, and the next thing he knew there was a ramp of shadowy ice under his toes and he was skating down the pyramid, his shriek turning into an almost hysterical giggle. 

The ramp ended and Jack shot up into the air and zipped over to Pitch drawing the wind in and gusting his father off in an attempt to get him back. Pitch, however, merely disappeared into shadows, reappearing behind Jack, and tapping him on the shoulder. 

Jack spun and laughed. Pitch held out an open hand and the pair disappeared back home once Jack took it. 

~~~

The sun burned. It literally burned. Jack couldn’t go outside during the day anymore.

The fearling’s fault. Pitch’s fault. His fault. 

If this never happened. If Jack had been quicker, smarter...He would be ok. He wouldn’t be in this hell. He should have never put himself in such danger. Now he was suffering the consequences. 

Cringing, His body curled itself closer to the tree trunk. He figured even his body didn’t know the affects the shadows had on him. Now they were both stuck. and Noon was coming and the shadows were getting smaller. and Fuck. 

He should have never become a guardian. If he stayed as just poor invisible Jack Frost he would never have caught the attention of the big leaguers and still be safe, alive, himself. He should have left before tooth disappeared, should have fled when Bunny made it clear he wasn’t needed. He wasn’t anyways. He just became a liability. He was a minion now, a tool of darkness with no control over his own actions. He was the enemy, and he should just let the sun burn him to a crisp and be done with the whole affair. At least then there would be one less shadow in the world.  
Fear shivered through him. Not his own fear.

Woah.

Not his own fear. The fearlings’ fear. Of dying in the sun. 

And just like that something seemed to click, to give, to loosen within him. Suddenly, Jack’s hand reached for the light, his flesh began to sizzle in the brightness. He cringed. His body and himself, and the fearlings all cringed. The body tried to pull the hand back, his arm twitched with movement. His hand wouldn’t move. It stayed there. Why was it staying there? The fearlings were shrieking all around him already. What was….

Heat was addling his mind. 

And it hurt. He wanted to lower his hand. His hand lowered. 

Moons. 

Did he just. 

The fearlings cringed back inside of him. He had control. His fingers twiddled because he willed them to, his breath gasped from his lungs because it was his own. The fearlings scared themselves into submission!

Jack leapt to his feet. He was free! He made to fly away immediately gripping his blackened staff, His breath coming in near hysterical waves. He hopped into the air and the wind swirled around him and excruciating pain slammed all of his senses.

The next thing he knew he was on the ground curled up against the trunk again tears spilling down his cheeks, a keening whine threading out from his lips. 

Panic overwhelmed him and he shivered as the shadow of the tree sparse with leaves, edged back right to his toes. He was doomed. His grasp on control was tenuous and he was still possessed. He couldn’t run even though he wanted to. 

He found his own fear matching up with the fearlings’ and much out of his control, which he seemed to relinquish as his mind shut down. He was forced back to watching himself and soon a whining sob rattled with his breath and his mouth worked as the fearlings regained power.

“D-daaaaddy!” He practically hissed in that clumsy just taken manner. His hands scrambled to shield his head and tears soaked his dress shirt as he tucked his head to his chest to try and become smaller. 

“Piiitch!” he groaned the next moment he could form words and Jack was no longer sure if that was the fearlings or him talking. 

And where was he? Pitch never left him alone. how did this even happen? Why did he even let him out to get so stranded? 

“Pitch!” He called again.

It seemed like hours. Hours had passed, he was getting burnt, the backs of hands were blistered, his feet red and angry before blessed cool darkness sucked him under. He didn’t even know if it was because he passed out or if Pitch finally found him.

Time was beyond him. All he knew was that it hurt, really badly, and that bands of unwanted warmth held him tight. Jack thrashed against whatever contained him. He needed cold, he needed to heal, he needed it now!

“Jack! Jack calm down you're safe now!” Pitch tried as he held him tighter. 

Jack only flailed more, a feral growl rumbling violently through him. He clawed with sharp dark nails into his flesh barely aware of his own actions.

“Jack!” Pitch shouted in his ear and suddenly his body fell limp. Pitch’s power washed over him, the fearlings responding to his command. All he could manage was a pathetic whimper as Pitch cradled him close sitting down right there on the ground somewhere within the lair. 

The last vestiges of his control seeped away and the forced calm on his body made his mind stutter to halt as well. Pitch hugged him close and rocked them both back and forth as his hands threaded through Jack’s hair and rubbed at his back. 

Jack’s body began to shudder and hitching sobs wracked his shoulders as Pitch pulled him closer. Jack knew he was just an observer in his mind again but his body matched himself and they both cried together accepting the soothing hushes from his father. 

“I-it huu-urts!” He whined as he buried his face into the warm chest. He wanted cold still, but having someone there was better. This was better. The warmth made his burns ache but that was ok because Pitch was here. He was here, he had him in his arms, and it would be ok. 

“I know, I know my prince. It hurts. But we’ll make it better. Shhh it’s ok. Its all better now. Youre already healing, yes? There we go. Look, so much better already.” Pitch cooed and hushed.

“Where were you?” Jack moaned, his sobs and hiccups already a little quieter as the hurts grew fainter.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Jack. I thought you were asleep.” Putch mumbled as he pressed his lips to Jack’s hair. Jack smelt of char. He was burnt badly.

“B-but where were you?” Jack pressed, upset that Pitch took so long to find him.

“Shhh. I was busy working. You know we move home every few weeks. I was reassigning the portals. We can’t have the Guardians ruining everything. I was writing our barriers and entrances. Your room overlooks the Alps now, isn’t that lovely? I know how much you like snow. The view is wonderful.”

“I want snow.” 

“Do you? We can go get snow. Youre still warm,” Pitch confirmed as he put a palm across Jack’s forehead. “yes, lets go cool you down. That is a good idea. How does a snowmelt stream sound? Snow and a bath?”

Jack only nodded, fisting his hands into Pitch’s robe.

~~~

It’d been a year. A goddamn year.

Jack was hopeless. 

The Guardians should have come for him. They should have! He -he…

He used to think he was worth it. A year had proved him wrong.

~~~

Pitch was kind of sweet.

The parenting game was kind of creepy. Jack didn’t get it at all. Until that day his body decided to snoop.

Jack almost grinned because no matter the amount of fearlings he resided with now, his body still was a cheeky brat. 

He tested his limits constantly, wrangling Nightmares without permission, weaving bad dreams, sculpting nightmare sand that was wildly out of his control still. He ended up hurting himself so many times, nicks and cuts from the sharp sand, bruises as he painstakingly re-harnessed his wind. 

And Pitch would fret over every single scrape. 

Sometimes Jack thought his body hurt itself on purpose just for the attention. Pitch always appeared in a flurry of shadows sweeping him up to clean and wrap his wounds, to take him to snow to chill his bumps, or to tuck him into bed when he overexerted himself. 

Pitch was surprisingly sweet. 

Except for that one time.

It was revealing to say the least.

Fearling Jack had taken to wandering the lair, getting them familiar with the place. Jack wondered why he would even need to do this since the fearlings within him had lived here their whole lives. 

He discovered the reason many weeks later. 

The fearlings were actually losing their own autonomy right alongside Jack. They were never like a puppet, simply responding to commands, Jack’s personality leaked through their influence constantly. His experiences and likes morphed them to him. It was almost like Jack was tainting them instead of the reverse. Sure he didn’t have control of his body, but he found more and more that his body was doing things he would choose to do if placed in the same situation. He often times just sat back and shrugged now letting this new him proceed peacefully. 

That was how they ended up in some deep shit though. 

Fearling Jack had found Pitch’s bedroom. Pitch never showed Jack his personal room, and redirected him every time he asked. So Jack went and found it on his own. 

The room was fascinating. 

It was decorated in a similar fashion to Jack’s own, if you counted everything being black to be similar. Otherwise it was rather ornate. A fireplace and sitting area in the middle, a massive swath of cushions and pillows in raised alcove, a desk and bookshelf along another wall. There were no windows. 

Jack was having a field day. He went through all the books, reading the titles and putting them back haphazardly, he rifled through the pages on Pitch’s desk. He found a journal in a drawer but it was locked tightly and not even creeping frost could break it open. He moved on to a side table holding a carafe of some dark liquid that burnt and tasted like charcoal (Whiskey, Jack smirked in his mind), then went to the bed like pile of pillows and leapt right in.

He sunk into the fluff and wiggled about giggling like a child before flopping around and splaying himself underneath it all. He pretended to swim through it and Jack thought even himself more mature than this, but who was he to knock a little good humoured fun? 

Then, his hand smacked into something hard amid all of the softness. Blindly he scrabbled for it and soon grabbed ahold of the small object bringing it close to examine. Being possessed by fearlings made his night vision amazing, but he couldn’t make out what this round thing in his palm was buried under the pillows as it were. 

Sitting up, Jack pushed aside the pillows and examined his find. It was a gold chained necklace with an ornate oval locket on the end. A silhouette of a woman carved on the cover, and it was stuck closed. 

Well, he could fix that.

Using a bit of his ice, Jack pried the locket open, the hinge crusty and stiff from disuse. Why would Pitch keep this in his bed of all places? 

Jack smudged his thumb across the glass to clean it and revealed underneath a stuttering image of a little girl flickering in and out of life. It was like a movie stuck in one place repeating over and over. The girl grinned and giggled, then she waved, a large hand coming into the frame flapping at her to calm down. The hand receded and she sat on a stool properly, smoothing out her skirt before looking directly at Jack and mouthing ‘I love you, Daddy.” 

Jack gasped and smiled. She was so adorable. Who was she? The movie started over shakily refocusing. Did he damage the film with his ice? He hoped not, she was far too precious to damage. He would like to meet her, maybe give her a good nightmare - 

“Jackson Overland Frost!” 

Before he could even think of a good excuse for snooping, Pitch’s hand wrapped tightly around his wrist and pulled the locket from him violently. One look at the necklace and Pitch’s face darkened. He threw the locket into the pillows and snapped back towards Jack so fiercely Jack flinched.

“S-sorry, dad! You just - I was curious!” Jack tried to apologize.

Pitch’s expression was furious. Jack paled and tried to pull his hand away. Pitch, however, was having none of that and he yanked Jack to his feet pulling him unceremoniously from the bed. 

“W-wait! I’m sorry! Ow! Pitch! Ow it hurts!” Jack screeched as he was drug from the room barely able to get his feet underneath him. 

Half way down the hallway, Pitch stopped abruptly and pulled Jack nearly off his feet into the air by his wrist. Jack wriggled trying to get free but he was far too strong and Jack had no leverage and he was scared. Pitch was never mean to him like this! Never in all of his time here was Pitch anything but sickeningly caring! He practically fawned over Jack! What happened? What did he do?

“I’m sorry!” Jack was on the verge of tears, he was scared and it hurt being held by his wrist. “What did I d-do?!”

“How many times have I told you to leave my room alone! You never listen! Bad little boys deserve a timeout.” Pitch snarled.

“F-for what! What did I do?!”

But, instead of answering, a portal or swirling darkness opened under Jack’s dangling toes and he had no more time to scream before he was dropped into the black.


End file.
